Whisper the Silence
by CrAyOnS tAstE LIkE pUrple
Summary: Didn't they know him? Harry Potter? He was innocent, and they threw him in Azkaban...
1. Default Chapter

Hey hey everybody! This idea came to me as I was sitting in french class! I hope you enjoy! If I get enough reviews, I hope to turn it into a multi-chaptered story. Anyways, enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter...

Chapter 1

The Boy-who-lived sat in the corner farthest from the door. It didn't help though. He knitted his fingers in his hair, squeezing his eyes shut. The voices and flashes wouldn't stop.

They had sent him to Azkaban. They didn't believe him. He was innocent. He was 15. This wasn't supposed to happen when you're 15. He bit his lip, crying out, his voice joining the countless others, forever trapped in darkness.

Flashback

Harry sat in dumbfounded shock at the front of the courtroom. The chair--he had sat in it before--was holding him steady with it's heavy chains. He imagined what he looked like, pale and shaking, a bead of sweat trickling down his face.

The faces staring at him were a mix of emotions; sadness, disgust, resentment, hate. Some were showing all of these at once. His dull green eyes drifted over the people whom he had once trusted.

Ron was glaring at him with cold hearted fury. Hermione gazed out at him, tear tears--he was sure--were blurring her vision. The Weasleys' were...filled with so much emotion. Reamus was comforting Sirius. Sirius couldn't even look at him...didn't being his godson mean anything anymore? Harry tossed his head slightly, to get his hair out of his eyes. Dumbledore was looking at him with such sadness in his eyes. Hadn't they once sparkled for him? They didn't now.

Harry James Potter, you are accused of the murder of Neville Longbottem, by torture of one of the unforgivable curses. You are also accused of giving information to He-who-must-not-be-named. How do you plead?

The black haired boy didn't even bother replying. He knew what they were going to do. He dropped his head to his chest, and took a shuddering breath. This had to be the worst he'd felt in...forever, really. To have so many of your loved ones hate you...

You have no one now, Harry.'

This court finds Harry James Potter guilty of all charges, and is here by sentenced to Azkaban, for life.

He sucked in more air. Why couln't he get enough? He snapped his head up at the clapping. The faces blurred as he sodded silently. Why didn't they believe him? He was innocent.

The air around him went cold and he went completely still, knowing what was coming for him. They glided out, four of them, their horrible rasping breath seemed to rattle his bones. he felt fear in it's rawest from run down his spine.

Lily! Take Harry and run! No! Not Harry!...parents died in a car crash, you stupid boy. Kill him! Kill the boy!

Cedric's dead eyes.

Blood.

Neville lying on the floor, a shadow slipping out of the room.

Screams.

What he didn't realise was he was the one screaming.

End Flashback

It was bad. He saw it all the time. You'd think it got better over time. It didn't. His scar was on fire. He watched his left hand twitch, his skin white. Was he always this pale? He curled himself tighter into a ball.  
Innocent  
Innocent  
Innocent

He cried out, pressing his hands to his scar. They were back. They loved him. He was a feast. They were touching him, their cold, clammy skin rubbing against his.  
Blood

Fire

Laughter

Dead eyes.

When they were done, blood leaked into his eye. He was panting, trying to catch his breath. He weakly turned his head to the side and threw up.

But couldn't escape. He dreamed. he never escaped his nightmares. The cold stone floor was grinding against his back. Did he have a window? Even if he did, he couln't stand up.

His messy black hair fell in tangles in his eyes. He blinked, rubbing away the congealing blood from his scar. He braced his weight on his arms, watching them quiver slightly. How long had he been here? He looked to the wall.

Flashback

He sat with his back against the wall, his knees up, arms almost carelessly draped across them. For the first time he noticed his hair was a little longer. How long had it taken him to grow his hair that long? Maybe...6 weeks. give of take a few days.

He crawled over to his bed. It had an old spring frame. His fingers wiggled around the frame until he found what he was looking for. A loose stripe of metal. He turned the mental over in his fingers. He ran his fingertip over the edge of the ragged metal, cutting his flesh. He let himself give a small smile. Crawling back over to his spot by the wall, he stuck his finger in his mouth, swirling his tongue around the slightly abused flesh, taking back the blood he had spilled.

He held the metal to the wall, pressing down in a hard, fast downward motion, he did this several times until he was satisfied with the depth of the groove.

He worked on it for hours, scratching, watching the flakes of plaster or was it rock? Fall down to the floor.

His eyes sparkled for the first time in over a month at the work shown before him.

My nAMe is HARRY PottEr  
42 DayS and CountINg...

He lay back on the semi-soft mattress. The screams seemed to be dulled, as if he had cotton in his ears. What a peculiar image he'd make, if anyone cared enough to stick there noses into his 10x12 cell. A boy, pale be societies standards, with inky black hair that lay tangled around his head like a knotted halo. It reached his collar bone now. He didn't know how his eyes looked. The lasted time her had seen a mirror was about 1 1/2 maybe 2 years ago. they had been a stunning green. Had their shine gone out?

He had been odd all his life. Ever more so when he had joined the wizarding world. But, even with all his oddity, no one knew how to do the kinds of things he did. Waking up in the middle of the night knowing how to do the most advanced dark arts. With the slight wave of his hand, he could send the bars rattling as if a herd of trolls had run into the side of the prison.

Oh, Harry. Maybe you should just break out. It wouldn't be hard... he voiced his train of thoughts out loud.

But no...your still waiting to be taken out, to have the satisfaction of them knowing they wronged you in the greatest of ways. Maybe make then suffer. he was used to talking to himself. It seemed less likely he would disappear if he talked to himself. It also was the only human voice he heard, besides howls filled with grief.

Well, if there's any justice left in the system, it'll happen.

He had bitten off all his nails (they grow fast, you know. You notice things like that when you're all alone in your head.) His once almost new robes, now ragged over time, had lost there colour. He guessed they had snapped his wand. He wasn't considered a real wizard anymore...unless you counted the ever feared wandless magic, of course...

Fire

Death

Dead eyes

He squeezed his eyes shut and let out a long breath. From what he felt, his face was still as smooth as it was when he was 11 years old. He could tell his body had grown some but not much. He could still be mistaken for 14, but...he could tell.

Are you really insane, Harry? I dunno...I am talking to myself.

Silence

He sighed and rubbed his forehead. His scar ached and burned constantly. Maybe each night someone poured hot liquid metal in the wedge of it. He wished the voices would stop.

...Quidditch Cup......pronounced dead... KILL HIM! KILL THE BOY!

He shot straight up, panting slightly. He didn't scream anymore. He had learned not to. They liked screamers. He looked out of the window, a single gleaming star winking at him.

When you...with, upon a star... he breathed out in a sing-song voice. He could feel tears burning his eyelids. Why couldn't he forget. Disgust on the faces of loved ones  
...Sirius couldn't look at him...  
Dumbledore shaking his head sadly.

He curled himself tighter, knowing the next words to be inscribed on the wall.

onCe You werE A STaR

-----

The people in the room stared at the man in the middle of the floor. An empty bottle of Veritaserum was on the oak desk.

What were you doing at Hogwarts?

The man's eyes tried to focus.  
Mnnn I was getting.....information...nnn.

A dark eyed man scowled, opening his mouth to say something. An old wizard with blue eyes, put a gentle hand on the man's shoulder.

Easy, Sirius... Why were you there personally? Why did you not get an insider? Like you did before? Everybody knew of which the old man spoke. A tense silence filled the air, broken by the mans laughter.

Fools...it's just like my master said...human minds jump...so easily to betrayal. There never was a student...before. What do you mean? a cool voice came from the corner, a man with a slightly hooked nose stepped forward.

The Death Eater on the floor was silent, shaking with amusement.

What did you mean...sir...by the previous statement? The man's eyes glazed, and he looked as if he was trying very hard not to answers

...It was easy, the fire flicked hauntingly over the man's gaunt face, We knew we had to get the boy out of the way... A simultaneous chill shot up everyone's spine at the implications of that statement.  
The Dark Lord knew the boy had a hero complex...he acted on that fact. I made sure he saw me...and slipped into the room where i had killed the boy...I remember the look on his face when he saw the body, the man gave a twisted smile. It made me giddy, and you tried him, found him guilty, and sent him on him merry way to Azkaban. My Master didn't even have to lift a finger. And with him out of the way, we will rule all. The man finished, then slumped into a dead faint.

-----

Harry licked the blood sticking to his arm. A thoughtful look crossed his features. pain made the flashes and voices stop. If there was pain in his body, his mind couldn't focus on anything else. A broken wrist2 weeks of freedom. Small deep cutshours of freedom ( highly effective) Burns days and days.

He knew it wasn't healthy, but who cared? No one. He turned 17...sometime. He knew that much. Maybe 2 weeks ago? His head hurt. He had fallen down, off the bed and cracked his face on the bed frame before banging his head on the stone floor. It happened when the Dementors came in. He almost sensed there laughter. He had a bad feeling his eye was going to swell shut.

if only they could see him now; Harry fucking Potter, laying on his stomach, forehead pressed to the grimy ground, a river of crimson running from his scar and mouth.

He felt goosebumps skim down his back as he pushed himself up. There was something going on, just down the corridor. Were they bringing someone else in/ There were some shouts, and his door burst open. He saw three dementors and a man in billowing black robes before his eyes rolled into his head and he passed out.

I got a new computer, so I can finnaly update. 


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I dO nOt OwN hArRy PoTtEr!

Chapter 3

Severus Snape looked down at the boy he once knew, sort of. Seeing him, really seeing him, gave the man--although he didn't show it--weak knees and shivers

There before him was a pale ghost of a boy. Too thin, to small. His hair contrasted sharply with his pale (greyish) skin. The infamous scar the came with the package looked inflamed and raw, almost as if someone was dragging a nail down the groove.His small chest was rising and falling sharply, shallowly. He hear rasping breath sucking in and out, past the boys parted lips. He was wearing a tattered, old, dirty Hogwarts uniform. Thats right...they never even gave him time to change...' He frowned at the bruised and cut appearance of the boy's face. They didn't beat people at Azkaban...there was no need. So why...?

The Dementor behind him was uncomfortably close. He stepped forward subtly, when the guard didn't make a move to stop him, he moved forward with more confidence. And in one fluid motion, he scooped the boy up in his arms. The boy's head lolled back, his left arm hanging uselessly out of Severus's protective embrace.

He turned around, his robes billowing as he strode forward. But stopped short, looking at the walls of Potter's cell. His eyebrows were furrowed. What was...no it couldn't be...there was so much. He stepped closer, careful not to bang Potter's head against the stone. But it was, it was-

Blood? the tall (muggle) man questioned in confusion.

Yeah, loads of it...just back there, a short balding man (also muggle) pointed down the dark dirt road.

I reckon one of the trucks carrin' dead animals and such just spring a leak...you know... the tall muggle just scratched his head and got back into his truck. The other man looked down the road, his face taking on a slightly thoughtful, dreamy look.

Funny thing though...didn't see any tire marks... seeming to snap out of it, he shook his head and climbed back into his own respective means of transportation.

The two men never noticed a figure in black robes with an eerie white mask glide into the trees. The only one who noticed things like that were a small boy with vivid green eyes.

Severus kept his eyes strait ahead as he walked down the cold corridors, ignoring the insane cat calls directed at Potter.

Harrrrry, a light voice called from his left. We'll miss your screamsss...they used to keep me warm at night. shrieking laughter followed.

Hey Potter! You can jump my bones any day! The Dark Lords gonna get cha! The Dark Lards gonna get cha!!!

He unconsciously walked faster. Uncomfortably aware of the two Dementors that followed close behind him. Dark chills rolled up and down his spine from being so near to the creatures.

Moans of misery emitted from cells. The smell of sickness and ultimate death laced the air (which was stale). The torch light flickered and cast shadows over the stones and their grooves. Making it look as though there were old withered faces peering intently at them.

Almost there...we're almost there...

He moved his arm slightly, so the boys face rested on his shoulder. His knee's bent over the crook of his arm. Potter wasn't wearing any shoes. He had cute feet. The boy, Harry, was still unconscious. Perspiration glistened on his forehead, his long black lashes curling over his elvish cheek bones.

As he got closer to the exit, the salt air sting his nostrils. He felt a draft swirl his hair. A Dementor was standing hauntingly be the door, holding it ajar. It's faceless hood turned towards him. He could hear the air rasping from it's lungs. He turned his back towards it, so Harry was facing the opposite way. He passed the monster in an ungraceful gate. He felt cold to his bones, his grip on Harry tightened. The creature seemed to be laughing at him.

A blast of stinging wind collided with his body, blowing his robes out behind him. He some what less than gracefully stumbled over the rocky shore to the waiting boat. Sliding into the wooden structure, he held Har...Potter on his lap. Wrapping his cloak securely around the boy's shivering frame, he pulled him closer.

------

The group of people sat around a roaring fire, not one of them felt the warmth. Dumbledore gazed sadly into space. No one interrupted the music of crackling wood. Molly Weasley was blinking back tears to no avail, she hiccupped softly, clutching her husband's robes. The other members of the Weasley family were not doing much better.

Ginny sat with her knees drawn to her chest, silent tears had long sense began there track down her cheeks. Ron's freckles stood out shockingly against his face, he was breathing unevenly and gripping the armrests of the chair he was sitting in. Hermione had her hands over her mouth and nose to muffle the sounds of her sobbing, as if it were a harsh taboo to make noise. Her bushy hair kept falling into her eyes. Reamus Lupin looked like he was supposed to be 6 feet under by now, partly because of the upcoming full moon...partly from awaiting Harry James Potter. Sirius--if possible--looked worse than Reamus. His face was currently buried in his hands, shoulders slumped in defeat.

Reamus, with his more pepper than salt hair, turned to the Headmaster. When he spoke, it came out hoarse.

Albus...what it it's not Harry? Wha---, he cleared his throat, feeling it contract suddenly. What if...he's... the sentence trailed in the air.

Albus Dumbledore turned his head warily in his direction, acknowledging the unspoken question. Everyone turned their attention to the Master of the school.

...Then...it is our burden to bare.

------

Severus warily climbed out of the boat. Holding Potter close to his chest, more than slightly disturbed at how happy he was to feel the tiny flutter of the boys heart. The grey mists of the water still clung to the shore. He walked forward, rubbing his hand against Harry's back in a last ditch effort to give him some warmth. He shook his head, the boy looked so sick, nothing like the little hellion that plagued him in potions.

If someone were to come over the crest of the small hilltop over looking the murky waters, they would see a man in black robes holding a small boy in what looked like tender care. They would see the dark haired man stroke the sleeping child's forehead. Then, with little to no noise, they would see nothing. The boy and the man had disagreed.

Harry felt cold. But he was pressed tightly to something warm. Warmth was nice.

He opened his eyes slightly, see the blurry image of a man with black hair and deep eyes...pools of ebony.

Tendrils of dreary blackness crept back into his vision. His body felt like he was floating, but at the same time weighed down heavily. His whole being ached. Ached like a broken bone, throbbed uncomfortably, pulsed with a different beat then your heart. Then suddenly the pain was going away. Harry knew no more.

All occupants of the room stopped breathing. A man, Severus Snape, slipped quietly into the now completely silent chamber, he was holding a form wrapped in his cloak.

There were several sharp intakes of breath, and a whispered question.  
Is he...awake?, Ms. Ginny Weasley asked almost breathlessly. Severus looked at her out of the corner of his eye and shook his head, his face missing the usual scowl.

He eased himself over to the couch in the corner of the room, and carefully placed the body of the boy on the soft padding. Most of the other occupants unconsciously moved closer. Albus Dumbledore stood from his chair and swiftly, for a man that age, moved near to the Boy-Who-Lived, peering at the small face in the folds of the cloak over his half-moon spectacles. He frowned.

Severus, what happened to his face?

He answered in his usual silky voice, though slightly horse, I do not know, Headmaster. I found him like that, sprawled out on the floor. Mrs. Weasley burst into a new wave of fresh tears. Sirius made a choking sound.

Severus gently moved his cloak from Potter, folding it in his hands as he went. They gazed upon his ribs, protruding sharply from his body, only seen though a rip in his clothes, though you could see there outline through the fabric. Dark blotches, some yellowed with age, of bruises marked lots of what was visible on the ghostishly white skin. His breathing was evening slightly, though heard with a wheeze. He turned his head a fraction to the left, a thin trail of blood escaping the confines of his mouth.

Echo's of alarm shot through the room. That was the sound a confused Harry woke to.

His body felt soft and sluggish, the way someone would feel after being run over by a herd of unicorns then being dumped in a luke warm lake.

He became aware of many separate things at a time. He was lying on something soft and warm, as far as he knew nothing in Azkaban came close to those classifications. The air was not damp and smelling of sickness, it was warm and dry, like driftwood. The emotions in the room were swirling, different from the ones in Azkaban, warmer, but sad, with an underline of happiness and joy. And ohhh he felt magic, warm magic...magik. It pulsed from everywhere, he didn't even need to open his eyes. He felt the colour, the pure swirling power.

His shoulders stiffened and his back arched as he was overcome by a wave of painful coughs. It felt worse every time, even though it was a regular occurrence, he still couldn't get used to the idea that his lungs were filling with fluid. Vaguely on the edge of his mind he heard notes of panic. It felt like fire ripping up and down his throat, he felt tissue in his esophogus ripping and tearing, his lungs searing and burning an icy cold. His body wouldn't be able to take much more of this, he mentally sighed. He felt a trickle of sweat run down his ribs. He collapsed back down onto the soft...thing he was lying on. Breathing soft and sharp. Every time he exhaled he tasted blood, each inhale he swallowed it.

He was aware now, of people making soothing noises and talking in hushed panicky voices. Where was he?

Shadowy figures moved around the room, like flickering bats in candle light. He kept hearing pulsing in his ears, he supposed it was his heart. His breathing was burning him. Familiar voices swirled around him, arguing. His sight grew clearer, not as sharp as it would be with his glasses, mind you.

He saw their colours and outlines, their distinct features were lost to him, but he got who they were, he knew them anywhere, his beloved ones. He was vaguely aware of someone stroking his hair. Why were they touching him? How could they stand to touch something as low and dirty as him. All his anger towards them had lasted only a few weeks after they threw him in prison. It was his fault, his fault for failing them.

The reality of the situation finally crashed down upon him. With a surge of adrenaline he didn't know he still possessed, he shot forward, sprawling on the plush carpet, and scrambling to a corner. He couldn't let them see him, he was confused, disoriented, scrambled!

He felt them make a jerking movement as one body, you know the one, the one you do when your going to rush to something. He buried his face in his knees, and fisted his hair, he was not stable at the moment. His bruises burned and his cuts ached. How the fuck...what the hell was he supposed to do?!? Why did it matter? What did anything matter anymore. Life was meaningless, at string of meaningless repeating tasks over and over and over. What was suffering? Why was it suffering? It wasn't, nothing was, it was all the fucking same.

Harry's fingers twitched as he knotted his fingers tighter into the matted locks. His grating voice coming from his chest, it sounded like broken glass, Please...just don't touch me...I'm...dirty...

I edited and melded the chapters. I'll update after the exams.  
M-ann


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